


Romance is Hell

by Maze316



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Random idea which I had to write out even though I have nothing else to go with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 10:17:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19423945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maze316/pseuds/Maze316
Summary: What do you do when your angel doesn't take any hints for 6000 years? Overthink things, of course.





	Romance is Hell

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little thing I thought of at work. Who can't relate to Crowley's relationship frustrations?
> 
> My best friend Blueleaf12 wrote a sequel to this, titled ["Romance? Heavens, No!"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19464922) from Aziraphale's POV.

“Oh, Crowley, you’re being silly.” The thudding of shoes echoed between stone walls, bouncing between the words of a demon. “It’s simple! Easy as pie. You’re a demon! You’ve done so much _better!_ He passed through the threshold of another room, his hands combing through his hair. “Humans have been doing it for _millennia!_ Think, Crowley, _think!"_

Crowley swung around his gold-enameled chair, plopping himself down in the velvet seat. He tapped his knuckles on the desk, only to stand up just as quickly. He rounded the table, huffing all the way. 

“Can’t even ask a simple little question.” He looked at his sketch of the Mona Lisa. “What kind of demon does that make me, huh?” She said nothing, her smirk mocking him. He shook his head and wandered down a dim hall.

“I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?” Crowley stopped in his tracks. “‘You go too fast for me, Crowley,’ what does that even _mean?"_ He gestured up to the sky as if to ask the Almighty Themself. “Nearly six thousand years I’ve known him, and… and…” He sighed. 

Crowley turned around and found himself wandering into his plant room. As soon as he entered, one particularly small plant started to tremble. He crouched down to its level, examining it for flaws, before wordlessly deciding it was fine. A drop of water fell from one of its leaves as he stood up to pace on.

“Well, it’s been a few dozen years. Maybe that’s slow enough. Satan knows how much inertia he’s got.” He flipped around, glaring at the nearest plant. “What do you think you’re looking at, huh?” The plant shivered. “That’s what I thought.”

Crowley made his way around the perimeter of the room, the plants tense as he passed them. “Okay, okay. So I’ll take it slow. Nothing too… nothing too obvious. The Ritz is too much, too much. Something… smaller.” 

He rubbed his hands together. “He likes books, right? I could find him a really good book. The best he’s ever seen!” He grinned, but it fell. “Like he doesn’t have every good book on the face of the Earth.”

He circled like a shark searching for any hints of blood. Suddenly, he stopped, clapping his hands together. “I know! I’ll cause a crash! Right outside his bookshop! Then he’ll have to come out and talk to me!” He stood there, hands together, mulling over the idea. They fell to his side with a sigh. “You’re losing your edge, Crowley.”

He waved a bottle of whisky toward him, and it flew into his open palm. He flicked the cap off and took a swig of the bitter drink. With an overenthusiastic “ah,” he let go it let it hover inches from his hand. “Get the ol’ juices flowing.”

Abandoning the bottle, he took deliberate steps, each pounding another wave of fear into his plants. He played with his hands, as if any minute a brilliant idea would jump to him. He had to be ready for the big one. 

The floor began to wear in his path before it came to him.

“I could always just… take him to sushi.”

The plants, having been sated by his presence, all started to wave their leaves up in down. _Yes,_ they were saying, _good idea._

 _“Hey!”_ Crowley snapped. “When did I ever say you could agree with me?” The plants froze in place. 

“Thinking you can just nod at your master,” he mumbled under his breath. He stormed out of the room, a cloud of frustration following him. 

“Maybe he’d like a plant of his own. Nah — he’d probably spoil it. Let it drop a few leaves. They’d hope for as much.” He threw a glare over his shoulder. “Besides, gifts aren’t my sort of thing…”

At once, his brainstorming session was cut short. The phone rang. He sauntered over to it and picked up the receiver. The moment he did, his train of thought came to a screeching halt. Somewhere in the background, a glass bottle shattered.

“Crowley,” he answered.

“This is Aziraphale,” said the voice on the other line. 

“What do you want, angel?” he asked.

“Well, I just got word of something which sounds like the work of an especially wily demon.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“A customer of mine mentioned this, uh, what did they call it now, a ‘social network’? I believe it is named Facebook. I’m not sure, but it sounds awfully suspicious to me…”

Crowley smiled. “Are you accusing me of something?”

“Perhaps I am.”

“Well, I can prove it wasn’t me,” Crowley bluffed, the weight of his crooked smile shifting his head to one side. “Maybe I can convince you tonight, over some sushi?” 


End file.
